


Tumblr Prompts/Drabbles

by annabeth



Series: Drabbles [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Infidelity, Jjbek, Light Smut, M/M, Major Character Death (off-screen), Pliroy, Recreational Drug Use, Sibling Incest, Smut, Underage - Freeform, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking, Vikturio, crispinocest - Freeform, major angst, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 9,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12364530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth
Summary: A collection of drabbles from requests I took on my Tumblrhere. Chapter titles are the prompts. I will try to link to each request in the chapter summary/notes. Thanks for reading and feel free to prompt me on Tumblr! (Prompt posts arehere,here, andhere.)





	1. "You know, you can stay if you want to."

**Author's Note:**

> First prompt I filled was with Michele/Sara for Phayte, [here](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166293323102/michelesara-you-know-you-can-stay-if-you-want).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crispino incest!

Sara is going out to dinner with friends, and she holds up a lavender sundress for Michele's inspection.

"Do you like it?" she asks, and Michele tries to hide how he feels, to keep the damning expressions off his face. He doesn't think his sister realizes how deep his love for her runs. How deep, and how dirty.

"It's perfect," he says, not _beautiful_ , or _you'll be gorgeous in it_. When did he start censoring himself? Sara smiles, and begins to slip off the straps of her tank.

Since the Grand Prix, when Michele skated to the idea of letting Sara go, there's been a distance between them that has never been there before. So he gets up from the bed, where he's been sitting and getting surrounded by increasingly more of her clothes, rejects to what she might wear, and steps toward the door.

"You know, you can stay if you want to." Sara says this casually, as if she's not about to get changed. Michele freezes at the door, one hand outstretched for the doorknob.

Sara turns around. Her violet eyes are so big, so beautiful. Michele feels his heart clench.

"I don't think that would be… appropriate," he says weakly, knowing that his body wants to stay, wants him to give in. But his mind, well, shouldn't he know better by now?

"Who cares about appropriate?" All of a sudden Sara's eyes hold all of that intensity she usually displays when skating, and Michele is powerless beneath that gaze. He's utterly bewitched, and from the tiny smile camped upon her lips, she knows it, too.

She pulls the tank over her head. Her bra is simple white cotton with lace edging, and he's probably seen it in the laundry a hundred times, but that's just not the same as this—as seeing it _on_ her, cupping her perfect, olive-toned skin. He swallows as he realizes just how much of each breast is exposed by the bra.

Next, Sara shimmies out of her tight shorts, and now she's standing in front of him in nothing but her underwear. Michele swallows convulsively, and he knows that much like her breasts are swelling out over the cups of her bra, he's swelling in his jeans. They're so tight, and it's so wrong, but it's all for her—his _sister_ , for fuck's sake.

"Come here," Sara says, and Michele's feet carry him to her without his consent. She grasps his hand and puts it in the valley between her breasts, on the clasp there. He almost expires on the spot: his fingers are brushing bare, supple flesh that he never thought he'd ever be close to. "You know how to do it?"

Michele nods, voice unable to be found, throat clicking it's so dry. He flicks open the clasp.

Sara pulls him against her, and his hand is crushed against her breasts even as they flatten against his chest, and she whispers in his ear,

"No one else can have me but you."


	2. "You're a terrible liar."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for anonymous, [here](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166293847252/youre-a-terrible-liar-otayuri)! Otayuri angst.

**"You're a terrible liar."** Beka's eyes are darker than Yuri's ever seen them. He wants to—he reaches out, to touch Beka's face, but his boyfriend flinches away. And Yuri finally recognizes the darkness in his eyes as tears.

"I'm not lying, Beka," Yuri says; it comes out angry, bitter, just one more indication that this—their relationship—isn't working anymore. He clamps his lips together and glares.

"I've loved you forever," Beka says, his own voice filled with gravel. "This is how you treat me? Jesus, Yura, I thought I was different."

"What? That you'd be special because I agreed to fuck you?" Yuri hurls the words like stones, like he's figuratively slashing Beka's tires on his bike.

"Yes!" Beka stalks over to the minibar and grabs something alcoholic. He's twenty one and they're in the US for a competition, and Yuri's just come back from a late night run.

"Well, I said I loved you, didn't I?"

"That was a lie, too." Beka tosses back the drink. "I thought when we started dating that you would… I don't know, settle down. I guess I thought I could tame the tiger." Beka laughs bitterly.

Yuri doesn't know how it came to this.

"I didn't fuck JJ," Yuri spits out, voice flat. "I don't go around fucking other people when I say I'm with someone."

"How many times did you fuck JJ before Barcelona?" Beka asks, the glitter in his eyes an indication that he's furious.

"What the fuck?" Yuri grabs the nearest object—sadly only a pillow—and pitches it at Beka's head. "I'm not a slut!"

"Yura!" Beka grabs the pillow and dumps it angrily on the bed. "I'm going for a walk."

"It's eleven o'clock!" Yuri whirls around and watches Beka stomp to the door. "Hey. Don't leave. Please?"

"You made your choice." Beka opens the door, glancing over his shoulder. "See if you can find a different reservation before I come back." The door closes behind him, oddly gentle, quiet. Yuri swallows a throatful of tears.

"I wasn't lying," he whispers to the empty room. He wasn't. It was just a kiss—drunken, impromptu, unplanned. A meeting of lips that should never have met, and Yuri regrets it keenly, all the moreso for the fact that it may have just cost him the best thing that's ever happened to him in his life.

More than gold medals, Otabek Altin turned out to be the only gold Yuri could ever need.

And now he's gone.


	3. "I never meant to fall in love with you… I just did."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by [Ashii Black](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ashiiblack) [here](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166294659477/i-never-meant-to-fall-in-love-with-youi-just). Pliroy angst.

**"I never meant to fall in love with you… I just did."** JJ's face is wretched, and his hands are coiled around each other so tightly it must hurt. Yuri stares at him, unable to process what he just heard.

"You have a fiancee," Yuri says, feeling stupid. "You're not even gay?"

"Look, Yuri-chan, I don't get it either. I never thought I'd go for guys but…" JJ flops down on the couch in the hotel room, eyes closing. He's drunk, Yuri realizes suddenly. Drunk, and probably confused. Well, Yuri can work with that. He probably won't even remember this in the morning.

"Fine," Yuri says. "You wanna experiment? We can do that." Despite that strange, still unresolved, attraction to Otabek, Yuri's fifteen, single, and perfectly willing. He might hate JJ's guts—and God, he does—but you don't have to like a person to fuck them.

JJ's eyes open and the blue is so concentrated Yuri almost falls through them as if dancing into the sky. He's so obviously filled with hope, and Yuri adds, before JJ can get any ideas,

"I still hate you, shithead. This is just to get your rocks off. If fucking me gets that stupid shit out of your system, I don't fucking care, I'll do it." Yuri throws off his clothes. "Get naked, _Your Highness_."

JJ jumps up and practically hurts himself getting his clothes off. Yuri stomps over.

"Lean down, you're too tall, fuckhead. And kiss me."

But Yuri knows he's in trouble the minute their lips touch together, not because kissing JJ is any more special than kissing anyone else, but because he puts his hands over JJ's groin, expecting to find him soft—not gay enough, or too drunk—but JJ's cock is like a rock beneath Yuri's palm.

"Oh, God," JJ breathes against Yuri's lips, and his hands grip Yuri's shoulders way too tightly as he shakes, all over. "Oh, God. Kiss me, harder, kitten."

What he means is something else. Yuri cups his balls in one hand and caresses his dick upward with the other. Shit, JJ's really into this—and Yuri is definitely not going to encourage him.

But he's not a _complete_ asswad, either, so he continues to give JJ a handjob until JJ spatters his belly and Yuri's with sticky come.

"All right, you got off, now get dressed and get out," Yuri says, grabbing JJ's undershirt and wiping his hands on it.

"But, Yuri—"

"Once in a lifetime chance," Yuri says flatly, and JJ's face falls. But he gathers up his things.

"I do love you," he mumbles, but Yuri pretends not to hear.


	4. "I hope you know what you're doing,"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Jen [here!](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166295111552/54-jjbek) JJBek, mild angst.

"I promise it won't hurt." JJ smiles up at Otabek from where he's lying on the floor, Otabek leaning above him.

"Yeah, but—" Otabek eyes the safety pin, and the burning candle, and winces visibly. "I'm really not sure, Jean-Jacques."

"I told you, you can call me JJ," he says. "We ought to be friends by now, don't you think?"

"This doesn't seem like a good idea," Otabek says, clearly backpedaling. He balances on his hands and ducks his head down, licking over JJ's bottom lip. "And I don't know if 'friends' is the term I'd use." Now he's just trying to distract JJ.

"Well," JJ says, putting a finger between their lips so he can speak, "it's up to you. You can do this, or we can steal my brother's cigarettes, or—"

"No stealing!" Otabek cries, practically jumping back. His t-shirt is damp against his chest with sweat, and it highlights all that muscle that is really unfair for a fifteen year old to have.

"Then I guess you're getting your ears pierced," JJ grins triumphantly.

**"I hope you know what you're doing,"** Otabek says uneasily. "Also it's pretty much always a lie when someone says something isn't going to hurt."

"Don't be a baby," JJ says, running the safety pin through the flame of the candle. "I pierced my own ears."

"I don't see you wearing earrings," Otabek says, now obviously stalling.

"Because my papa would murder me," JJ says. He reaches for Otabek. His lips are damp with liquor and Otabek's spit, and he knows his eyes are feverishly bright. Otabek has the perfect profile and features for this. His hand cups Otabek's incredibly chiseled jaw, and turns his head slightly.

Otabek closes his eyes. JJ looks at the safety pin, then at the smooth expanse of throat on display. He closes the pin and drops it, then latches his mouth on Otabek's jaw, near his ear, and sucks hard.

Maybe a nice hickey will do instead.


	5. "You make me so mad."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Blownwish](http://blownwish-blog.tumblr.com/) [here!](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166305387157/omg-64-jjbek-pls-puppy-dog-eyes) JJBek angst. Contains mention of JJ/OMCs.

"You know every time you kiss a boy, Izzy tells me, right?" Beks's face is earnest, but his cheeks are red. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot; a telltale sign that he's been smoking weed again when he could have been kissing Jean-Jacques, who is, for all his purity, really not very good at being good.

"I _like_ kissing them," he tells Beks, who just scowls even more. "And I'm not even allowed near Izzy outside of school. But my parents don't mind if I hang with the hockey players."

"Have you kissed the entire team yet?" Beks asks, and he sounds resigned but a bit angry. Maybe more than a bit. Jean-Jacques goes into a full leg stretch, getting ready to go on the ice, and Beks is still just standing there with his track jacket on and his famous dark look on his face.

"Would I tell _you_?" Jean-Jacques asks, attempting to raise a single eyebrow in derision—and failing, both of them go up. He immediately lowers his brows and hopes that Beks didn't think that looked as stupid as it felt. But the truth is, Jean-Jacques likes kissing the hockey players in places that Izzy will see. He _wants_ her to tell Beks. He's been trying to get Beks to fucking give up, give _in_ , and kiss Jean-Jacques. It seems like the only boy in all of Canada that JJ wants to kiss is the only boy in the entire _world_ —Kazakhstan is pretty far away—who doesn't want to kiss _him_.

**"You make me so mad,"** Beks says at last, but he looks… well, disappointed, really, even if his cheeks are still incredibly ruddy. Jean-Jacques doesn't think it's the cold air from the ice rink that's causing it. "You don't have to act like a whore, Jean."

"Who says I'm a whore?" Jean-Jacques asks, bristling. Beks sighs. Even after all these months, his expressions are hard to read, even for his best friend—and Jean-Jacques is his best friend, right? "I'm just testing them. Looking for the right guy." He puts his entire heart into his blue eyes and stares meaningfully into Beks's deep brown ones. But Beks just blinks and stares back, face stoic and unmoved. Jesus! What does JJ have to _do_?!

"Jean," Beks says, and he unzips his track jacket. "You'll never figure yourself out that way." Jean-Jacques is about to argue, to burst up in the flames of righteous indignation, when he adds, "if you wanted me, all you had to do was ask."

But he doesn't look particularly amenable to the idea. He smooths down his practice shirt, which is tight to begin with, and begins to turn away.

"Wait!" JJ cries, grabbing for his sleeve and missing. "Let me smoke up with you after practice. I'll prove it! I'll prove that I can—"

Beks shakes his head, barely turning his face, so that all JJ can see is his profile.

"It's not about the weed, Jean, or the Catholicism, or any of that shit. It's about you. I'm not gonna help you figure your shit out. I'm a year younger than you, but I already know twice as much. Get a clue, would you?" And then he's gone, striding away as if he hasn't just shredded Jean-Jacques's heart with a skate blade and left him to bleed to death.

What does he mean? How can he offer himself and then just… take it all away? JJ scratches at the inside of his elbow, and frowns.

He _does_ have his shit figured out. He wants Otabek Altin. He wants Beks to be _his_ hero. But it looks like all he has is the knowledge that _he's_ Otabek's _zero_.


	6. "You're the only person I wanted to be with tonight."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Phayte's prompt [here!](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166331465212/milasara-youre-the-only-person-i-wanted-to-be) Mila/Sara, mild angst, a bit of fluff.

"It's nice to just be, after all that effort to advance," Sara says, drinking from her admittedly girlie cocktail. Sex on the beach, she thinks it was called, but she's a few drinks in and not everything is all that clear anymore. Mila brushes sweaty candy-red hair away from her face, exposing for a second her undercut, then taps her glass against Sara's.

"I know just what you mean." Mila is giving Sara an inscrutable look, her blue eyes so very… arresting. There's something about her eyes, and the soft, smooth curve of her cheek, and…

"Shit, I think I'm drunk," Sara says, laughing to try and pass it off as nothing special when it is, in fact, quite unusual. The only time she ever allows herself to drink is after a medal, and usually with Michele.

"Where's your brother?" Mila asks, as if reading her mind. She still looks sharp, and Sara's brain is muzzy, but she wonders how much Mila had to drink.

"Michele is… you know, I don't know. He didn't make the final six, so I think he's probably sulking in our room."

"Isn't it weird," Mila starts, stirring her drink, "that you two still share a hotel room? Isn't it awkward? I mean, knowing how he feels about you…"

"That's just—" Sara pauses to try to collect her thoughts, and in doing so, she accidentally remembers the short under part of Mila's hair, and she wants to touch it. See if it's as soft as it looked. **"You're the only person I wanted to be with tonight,"** she finishes, losing the thread of the conversation, caught up in a web of glittering sparkles; that's the way the bar lights look on the shine of Mila's hair.

"I'm really flattered." Mila's fingers flutter at her face, then her neck, before she rests her hand against the upper swell of her left breast. "Sara—"

"Yes, I think I will," Sara interrupts, her own eyes feeling huge, dilated. She's not even sure when she started thinking it—was it when Mila mentioned Michele?—but her lips feel cold, numb. "My mouth needs warming up."

"I'm-I'm sorry?" Mila asks, but her hand doesn't move, and there's a little smile teasing at the corner of her beautiful lips.

"I hope you don't mind," Sara says, and she gets up from her barstool and stumbles a little over to Mila's. She catches herself by grasping Mila's shoulders, and then her lips are against Mila's, and oh, it's different than she was expecting. Softer. Smoother. But so warm, her mouth immediately feels soothed. Mila doesn't give her any time to question it, she just moves her lips beneath Sara's, and then the tip of her tongue slowly travels along the lush curve of Sara's lower lip.

Just as Sara opens her mouth, Mila whispers,

"Let's get out of here. My roommate's over there dancing; my hotel room is free."

_Yes_ , thinks Sara, _a place where Mickey isn't, and where I can_ be.


	7. "They didn't deserve you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by anonymous [here!](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166336049027/pliroy-they-didnt-deserve-you) Pliroy, angst, dubious consent.

**"They didn't deserve you,"** JJ says, running his fingertip along the shredded edges of Yuri's shirt. Yuri's got his back to JJ, but he can feel soft, warm breaths falling evenly against the nape of his neck where JJ is leaning down over him. "That audience… why should they get to see what's meant for only my eyes?"

"And Otabek?" Yuri doesn't turn around, not even when that fingertip slides in between the chain of his necklace and his neck and tugs gently, bringing the cross up to the hollow of his throat. That's a thick chain—if JJ wanted to, he could choke Yuri on it. Yuri's not sure if JJ would ever lose his temper enough to actually hurt him.

"Otabek isn't shit to me," JJ murmurs. "You're all mine, kitten. Don't you remember the day you entered the senior division?"

"Like I could forget." Yuri knows that, in JJ's mind, this is a relationship built on mutual admiration, on a reciprocal attraction. And Yuri can't lie that JJ, with his tattoos and his blue eyes combined with dark hair, is hot like burning. But Yuri's hated him forever, it feels like, and so being subjected to his attentions kind of sucks, like puking up day old cheap vodka. And Yuri would know, having grown up on the stuff: plenty of hangovers he'd like to forget. Plenty of nights he'd like to forget.

Like this one.

But JJ doesn't mistreat him, and if he's awfully possessive, well, until Otabek that didn't matter.

"I don't know why you would do that routine," JJ comments, letting the chain fall back against his skin. "You were practically inviting every man there to fuck you. And okay, yeah, letting Otabek do that glove thing with his teeth? You shouldn't test a man, kitten."

Finally, finally, Yuri turns around. JJ's highlighted by the lamp behind him, so that his face is mostly in shadow. He can't read those eyes to see if JJ's angry, and JJ doesn't sound it, but Yuri… no, there's something off about JJ's reaction. Yuri expected him to be possessive, angry even.

JJ isn't angry.

"Just kiss me," Yuri whispers, trying to defuse the situation. "I'm yours, JJ, you know that."

That's a lie. Yuri isn't going to stick around to be JJ's on-the-side plaything if something better comes along. With Otabek, he thinks it might have, but it's too early to tell. After all, once the routine was finished, Otabek handed Yuri his purple jacket back and then disappeared. He'd had his fingers in Otabek's mouth, but Otabek hadn't even stuck around for the applause. Gone, like a shadow or a wraith.

JJ puts his broad palm across Yuri's chest, his pinky resting against Yuri's throat. His hands are big—especially compared to Yuri's petite body. He doesn't kiss Yuri.

"No, I don't think so," he says. "Not this time." He wraps his hand around Yuri's throat. He doesn't squeeze, but there's a wordless threat there, and Yuri gulps against his palm.

"Come on, JJ, don't be ridiculous," Yuri tries, feeling just slightly off-kilter. He's not used to this intensity, this darkness that lurks just out of his sight. JJ's not laughing or playing. "Why are you fucking with me?"

"I'm gonna buy you a collar," JJ muses. "I'm gonna put a tag on you that says you're mine."

"What about Isabella?" Yuri asks, feeling the slow always-there simmer of his anger beginning to flare. "Let me go. I'm not gonna fuck you tonight if you keep up this macho, caveman bullshit."

"Are you sure?" JJ asks, and Yuri feels a shiver run through him.


	8. "You know, you can stay if you want to." (JJBek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Jen's prompt [here!](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166337022357/40-jjbek-or-pliroy-authors-choice) JJBek, angst.

**"You know, you can stay if you want to."** JJ knows he's pleading, and that it's not cute, but he probably went past the point of no return for that an hour ago, when he threw up on Beks's cot from the alcohol and then started to cry as a result of his depression. Last night, Beks had broken the news to JJ that he was going back home to Almaty.

Tonight, JJ had pilfered some of Beks's liquor, gotten wasted, and quite unfortunately soiled Beks's blankets. This time, when he's saying for the millionth time that Beks doesn't have to leave, he's talking about their bedroom. His bedroom. It's felt like theirs for so long that JJ can't imagine going to sleep at night in this room without Beks breathing on the cot near the bed.

"I'm just gonna sleep on the couch," Beks says. "You should get a bucket and then lie down. You look like shit, Jean."

Of course he looks like shit. He's way too drunk and he's crying. His nose is running.

"Don't leave me in here alone! Didn't it mean _anything_ to you?" JJ asks desperately. "You were my f-first. I never even touched myself before. How can you just—"

"Jean. I'm sorry. But look at you. Did you cry like this before me?" Beks is balling up the soiled blankets, the considerate idiot that he is, he'll probably put them in the laundry himself. JJ's never met someone of such contradictions. On the one hand, Beks spent his first night in JJ's room swigging some kind of foul liquor, high as a kite on weed he'd smoked while JJ took a shower, and his other hand pumping cheerfully away at his dick.

On the other hand, Beks did dishes, took out the garbage, mowed the lawn, and always called his Maman "ma'am" and his Papa "sir".

JJ hadn't known what to do that first night. He'd lain in bed, pretending not to notice the slap-slap-slap of Beks's hand on his cock or the slosh of the alcohol in the bottle. He'd done a terrifically bad job of it, because Beks had paused at one point—well, he'd stopped drinking for a second—and said, blithely,

"Are you embarrassed? It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Clearly Beks had never been ashamed of his own body or of touching it. When he'd suddenly climbed into JJ's bed that night and thrust—literally—his cock against JJ's hand, JJ hadn't even known what to do. But Beks, high and drunk and horny, had shown him.

And now what is he showing him? Because this is a lesson JJ doesn't know how to learn.

"I've always cried," JJ admits with no small amount of shame. His younger siblings always tease—it's a game to them, to see how quickly they can get JJ to burst into tears.

"You won't get better with me here," Beks says, piling the blankets in the corner. He grabs his most recently worn sweatshirt and spreads it over the sheets. "You need to get better, Jean, and I'm holding you back."

"I won't—I can't live with _out_ you, Beks!"

"That's where you're wrong. You feel things so deeply… Jean, I like you a lot, but I can't be your crutch, and I'm not your savior. I know you think you're in love with me but—"

"But I _am_!" JJ cries, tears and snot running down his face. His mouth tastes foul. Beks slips into another sweatshirt and lies down, closes his eyes.

"Get some sleep, Jean. I'll still be here tomorrow."

_But for how much longer than that?_ JJ wonders, hands covering his mouth, watching Beks slide off into sleep.


	9. "I'm not leaving."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Icicle33 [here!](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166337948632/drabble-request-for-100-im-not-leaving) Vikturio, angst. A bit of underage smut.

"It hurts," Yuri whimpers, curled up on the bed. He's still so young, Viktor has a hard time imagining this is the same fierce Ice Tiger who terrorized his Yuuri in the bathroom at last year's Grand Prix. But a combination of growing pains and a little too much champagne at the banquet has left Yuri a sodden bundle on the bed.

"Shh, just try to go to sleep," Viktor says gently. "You'll feel better."

"That routine…" Yuri mumbles. "It was so hard to put myself through that tonight." He's talking about his agape sequence at Rostelecom, and Viktor understands it would have been difficult. Yurio has been putting himself through hell to keep anyone from knowing just how much pain he's been in from what's likely a growth spurt and all of the extra, incessant practice with Yakov and Lilia.

He probably wouldn't admit to it even now, except he's half-drunk. Who knew that a teenager who could drown himself in vodka with few ill effects could get so disastrously drunk on champagne?

"Please, sleep," Viktor says, but all of a sudden Yurio uncurls, lurching up in the bed and fastening his small hand around Viktor's thin wrist.

"Nyet!" he gasps, eyes wide and panicked. "Vitya, no—"

**"I'm not leaving,"** Viktor reassures him. "Relax, Yurio—"

"No, you will go back to that piggy! Stay, and…" Yuri sits up and leans in close. His breath is sickly sweet from champagne. His eyes are luminous green and his lips are so, so pink. Viktor would be lying if he tried to pretend—even to himself—that he's never noticed Yuri's crush, or that he may have, once or twice, before Yuuri, wanted to act on it.

But things are different now.

Right?

When Yuri's small, lush mouth crash lands against his, Viktor isn't startled, and he doesn't draw back. He knows he should be the adult in this situation, gently but firmly put Yurio back in his place. The child.

But he's obviously been kissed before; this is not the kiss of a child. And when Viktor doesn't move except to slowly increase the pressure, Yuri yanks back.

"Kiss me!" He's petulant, angry, _fierce_. And fuck, but Viktor admires that spirit. It reminds him of his own, and the way he felt at that age. So he tries, but he already knows he's lost the war, and he hasn't even fought the battle yet.

"You're too young, Yurio, you shouldn't—"

"Touch my hard fucking cock and tell me I fucking shouldn't," Yuri snarls. "And don't call me by that stupid fucking nickname!"

"You need rest, Yuri, not orgasms. Be reasonable."

"If you knew me at all, of you ever fucking paid _attention_ ," Yuri hisses furiously, "you'd know I'm not fucking _reasonable_. I'm in love with you. All I think about is skating—and you. And I'm not going to lie down till you get me off."

Viktor puts his hand over the very obvious evidence that Yuri's not lying about this, and says, very softly,

"All right, I'm not leaving." His thumb caresses Yuri's cock, and the fifteen-year-old moans. Viktor has to think of him that way—he shouldn't do this—but he does.

Yuri _moans_ , and Viktor doesn't leave, not once all night.


	10. "I can't watch you with someone else. It's tearing me apart."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for anon's prompt [here!](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166404633732/hi-i-just-read-your-jjbek-oneshot-and-i-really) JJBek, angst. Cheating! JJ cheats on Izzy, his wife.

One of the things JJ hates most about Beks is that he never seems to lose his cool. JJ has thrown a pillow, an ashtray, and two stuffed animals, but Beks hasn't moved, barely even enough to get out of the way. Beks brought it up—but _JJ's_ the angry one, so furious it's probably affecting his aim.

"You knew what you were getting into—" JJ shouts, grabbing for a vase of flowers.

"Jean. Calm down." Beks finally takes a few steps forward and carefully, gently cages JJ's wrist with his fingers, stalling his movement. "I get that you're upset. But I'm just telling you how I feel."

"No, you just want me to leave Izzy," JJ spits angrily. "It isn't _my_ fault you've been carrying a torch all these years."

**"I can't watch you with someone else. It's tearing me apart.** I'm just stating facts." Beks kisses JJ's wrist, then lets it go, steps over to JJ's bed—his and Izzy's bed—and sits down. "You knew I loved you. It wasn't entirely by choice that I went back to Almaty."

"You're a fucking liar," JJ says in a mean tone. He wants to sound mean. He wants to rip at Otabek's heart until Otabek understands what it _feels_ like. He wants to be fucking nasty, to drive Beks away, so that Otabek will remember that JJ's got a wife now, and he can't be with Beks anymore. Otabek. The boy who taught him to love, who stole his heart, then left it on fire when he went away.

"Am I? You know that isn't true. Look at you, Jean. You never used to curse."

That's true. But JJ is older now. His soul has gained the patina of some tarnish now, his religious upbringing almost forgotten.

"It's because of you," JJ says. "You broke my fucking heart, Jesus." Some of the irritation fades and JJ feels old, worn out and used up. His last free program, he nearly turned an ankle on a landing. He's getting old for figure skating. Otabek is a year younger than he is, but he shows no signs of slowing down—he's a better skater than he's ever been. At the most recent Olympics, Yuri Plisetsky was injured, and Otabek took gold in men's singles. JJ's not sure if he's forgiven him for that.

"You know that wasn't deliberate," Otabek says in his soft, deep voice with that sweet edge it always has. The way you feel, if he's speaking to you, like you're the most precious person on earth and that he'd hug you for days if you asked. Never mind the fact that, at fifteen, he was a wild child. That at fifteen, Otabek had started an inferno in JJ's heart, a raging blaze that he's never been able to extinguish. "And you married Izzy. Wasn't that enough revenge?"

"Why would you say that?" JJ sits down next to Otabek, and their thighs brush. It's like being in an electrical storm when lightning's struck nearby. He shivers and crosses his arms over his chest. He wants to pull away, but Otabek didn't seem to notice. How can he proclaim to be so in love but not feel it too?

"Are you saying you actually love her?" Otabek puts a hand on JJ's thigh, and the muscles quiver and his body shakes. "Tell me something, Jean: who do you think about when you put your cock inside her?"

There's nothing for it but to be honest.

"You," he admits miserably. "It's always been you." He turns his face and Beks is _right there_ , their lips close like the half rotation between a successful landing and a catastrophic fall. He's so sure that if he leans, just a little, that Beks will meet him halfway.

"Hey, you boys getting along again?" Izzy's bright smile lands on them like a searchlight, and by the time JJ's gazing at her face, he can see that she knows something's wrong.

Shit.


	11. "You look great."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Jen [here!](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166405780592/12-first-list-phichityuuri-make-it-cute) she wanted cute, so I did my best. Phichit/Yuuri, fluff.

**"You look great."** Phichit sounds thrilled.

It's January in Detroit, and Yuuri has just put on the new scarf he bought last week, when Phichit, his roommate, had been visiting some other friends. It's a nice dark blue, and he does think it looks nice against the pale gold hue of his skin.

"It's the new scarf," Yuuri says with a smile for his friend. The only rink mate he's ever felt close to. "You look really nice too."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Phichit grins and steps next to Yuuri, who is expecting him to link their arms together—which he does—and lead him out the door. But no, he's forgotten: Phichit whips out his phone and selfie stick. He tags the photo **#outforcocoa #bbfs**.

"Let's go get our hot chocolate," Yuuri says. He opens the front door and they step over the threshold in unison, giving each other wicked, satisfied little grins as they do so.

He enjoys swinging their arms together, the heat of their hands barely felt through soft woolen mittens, and he loves the crunch of the snow beneath their boots as they walk.

They reach the coffeeshop at the same moment, rather expectedly, and Phichit pauses in the doorway to brush snowflakes from Yuuri's hair. He ought to have worn a hat, like Phichit has done, but he'd been distracted by his new scarf.

"I think you're right, it's gotta be the scarf," Phichit teases. "It can't at all be the great looking face you've got."

"You've been spending too much time with your hamsters," Yuuri says, blushing. Phichit pulls off a mitten, licks his finger, and dabs it against Yuuri's hair.

"Not a chance," he says. "There. Your hair was sticking up a little." The bells at the door tinkle, and Phichit pulls on Yuuri's hands, both of them at once. They order their hot chocolate and find a little table by the window, and Phichit stares out at the snow falling softly. "It makes the streets seem so pure," he says.

"That's true," Yuuri murmurs. He's glancing at his phone, at the photo Phichit posted. He snapped another one at some point, catching Yuuri with his dark hair dusted by melting snow, making it look like he had diamonds wreathing his brow. It's tagged, **#bbfs #prettyasapicture**. "What does 'bbfs' mean?" he asks, meeting warm brown eyes. Phichit blushes. It's awfully cute.

"I hope you don't mind," he says. "Best boy friends," he adds, a little sheepishly.

"Let's take another," Yuuri suggests, unwinding his scarf a little. He scootches his chair next to Phichit, who enthusiastically produces his phone. When Phichit snaps the picture, Yuuri's looking at the flash and laughing, and Phichit's got one eye closed, one eye open for the camera, and his lips pressed to Yuuri's cheek.

That delicate, birdlike peck is enough to warm Yuuri all the way through, more than a hundred new scarves could.


	12. "You're a terrible liar." Vikturio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [Icicle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/icicle), I wrote you ~~mostly~~ non-angsty Vikturio! Prompt [here](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/167282507457/vikturio-yourre-a-terrible-liar-side-jjbek-if)!

**"You're a terrible liar** , you know that," Yuri says, fondly stroking the bangs of Viktor's hair back. Viktor's lying back on the couch, his eyes closed, a faint grimace on his face.

"You don't have to remind me every time, Yurio," he says, sounding aggrieved.

"The only reason that fat pig hasn't figured it out yet is because he's absolutely blinded by his idol worship of you." Yuri, seated with Viktor's head on his thighs, leans down and kisses Viktor's head. Flexibility is nice, and as Viktor likes to say, _my figure skater is bendy_.

"Just shut up and blow me already," Viktor says. "You don't have to remind me of Yuuri every time, you know."

"I like to." Yuri licks his forehead. "I like to remind you of who you'd rather be with." He slips out from beneath Viktor's head and crawls down Viktor's body. They're both naked. "Blow me too."

"I'd rather eat your ass," Viktor says. "Yuuri never lets me—"

" _Ugh_ , don't tell me what you do with that pig when I'm not around!" Yuri presses his hands into Viktor's hipbones and rubs his cheek against Viktor's half-hard dick. "But this just proves my point; I'm obviously superior to him."

"You're a sixteen-year-old brat," Viktor says, easily. Yuri bares his teeth and grazes them over Viktor's foreskin, eliciting a gasp. "Fuck, Yurio, be careful."

"It didn't really hurt," Yuri says, breathing on him. "Look, you got even harder when I did that." It's true; Viktor's cock has stiffened and risen, and Yuri opens his mouth and swallows Viktor down. He's gotten pretty good at this over the past few months. He's amused by the fact that, even though he complains about Viktor waxing poetic about his sex life with the katsudon, he's better at this than that pig. Yuuri's not just a pig—he's a prig, too.

Viktor's tongue flickers over his hole, and Yuri groans around the thick cock in his mouth. He wants to tell Viktor how much he loves his cock, how much he loves gagging on it, but he doesn't want to take it out of his mouth.

He begins to suck, uneven pressure on purpose to drive Viktor to distraction, then uses his tongue to stimulate the head as he sucks. Viktor moans and licks his ass even more, the tip of his tongue probing at his hole until Yuri lets out a breath and relaxes; Viktor's tongue breaches him just as Yuri flutters his tongue around Viktor's slit. Viktor's tongue is inside him as deep as it will go, and Yuri's widening Viktor's slit minutely with his, mimicking his action.

He's also immensely proud of the fact that he can give an absolutely _awesome_ blowjob, thank you very much, even while having his ass eaten—Yuri's dick twitches and jumps against Viktor's belly, leaving streaks of glimmering fluid behind even as he bobs his head, varying his movements, licking and sucking and then swallowing around the head of Viktor's cock.

Viktor's just started tongue-fucking him, in and out in quick plunges, when his cell rings. It's the pig's ringtone. Yuri already knows Viktor's going to answer it; he already knows it's pointless to tell him not to. So he gets his revenge by speeding up until Viktor's about to come, then he squeezes the base of his dick.

"Yuuri!" Viktor sounds breathless and way too happy. _Yuri's_ the one making him happy, dammit. Why doesn't Viktor ever acknowledge that? "I know, I'm sorry. Yes, I missed your practice—I wasn't feeling that—oh!—good. Yeah, it's my, uh, my stomach. Yes. I had a bit of pain. No! You don't need to come home! It'll be fine—just keep working with Yakov for now."

Yuri mouths over Viktor's dick, kittenish swipes of the tongue up and down the shaft, wishing Viktor would hurry up and get rid of Katsudon so that he can finish Yuri off.

"I love you. What? Of course I do! Don't get anxious, Yuuri—it's fine. My sexy katsudon. Of course. I'll call you later, yes?"

Yuri sucks as hard as he can while rolling Viktor's balls in his hand.

"Oh, Jesus!" Viktor cries, and comes hard into Yuri's mouth. Yuri gulps it down, some of it dripping from the corners of his mouth as he lifts his head slightly. "No, no, it was just a pain! Honest, I'm fine," Viktor says, now completely out of breath.

Yuri pulls off his cock, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and climbs down off Viktor. He's in the process of tugging at his own dick, trying to get off, when Viktor hangs up and covers Yuri's hand with his own.

"I'm sorry," he says. He jacks Yuri harder, a little rough with a twist on the upstroke, just the way Yuri likes it. "You know I love you too."

"You really are a terrible liar," Yuri says, but his breath is coming in short pants now. His hips buck up, thrusting into Viktor's fist. "That's okay. I don't care if you're lying about loving me, as long as you get me off."

"I've always loved you," Viktor says. "I just had to wait for you to grow up a little."

Yuri comes with a whimpered cry. Those are words he's always wanted to hear.

"Lies," he says through heavy breaths.

"I'm with you right now, aren't I? And I'm supposed to be Yuuri's coach. What do _you_ think?"

Yuri surges up and kisses Viktor, tangling their tongues together and letting Viktor taste his own come. But that tongue… it doesn't taste like lies.

Viktor's kiss is telling him the truth.


	13. "Shouldn't you be with him?" - ViChris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH (off-screen) in this chapter/drabble.
> 
> For [Ashii Black](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ashiiblack), who requested ViChris [here](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166766393482/shouldnt-you-be-with-him-vichris)!

"Shouldn't you be with him?" Chris asks. He's standing at the window, gazing out on the grey, rain-soaked afternoon, Viktor beside him looking as gloomy as the weather.

"I can't bring myself to go in there. Have you seen him? He looks… broken."

"You said for better or for worse," Chris reminds Viktor. They've been friends for a long time. They were more, once. And he knows how to read Viktor, who is clearly troubled by his thoughts—and Chris doesn't think it's because of his husband, Yuuri, lying in a hospital bed.

"This is as worse as it can get." Viktor doesn't say what they're both thinking: that Yuuri's accident has broken his back. He's almost assuredly dying. But still Viktor won't go inside that hospital, that room, and try to comfort the man he says he loves.

"Viktor: we've been very… close. Tell me the truth. How are things in your marriage?"

Finally sea green eyes meet Chris's face. They are haunted, and the tip of his nose is red. He doesn't answer Chris with words. No, he grabs Chris's hand, yanks him close, and melds their mouths together. The kiss is hungry and filled with… emptiness?

Chris wants to ask about it, to parse out the meaning behind this kiss, but already Viktor is pulling him towards the hotel room couch.

They lie on it in a tangle, clothes half unzipped and unbuttoned and Viktor's hair—long again—a platinum curtain that shuts out the rainy day.

When it's over, when Chris is aching pleasantly in unspeakable places, he combs Viktor's hair back. He tries not to think about his own boyfriend, waiting back in Switzerland. Chris came all the way here because of Yuuri's life-threatening injuries, not for a quick fuck.

"Tell me," is all he says. Viktor breaks down into sobs. Chris waits for an explanation, but he doesn't get one. Just more tears staining his silk shirt. When Viktor's phone rings, Chris stares at it; Viktor's still too busy sobbing to care. It's the hospital.

Chris knows it's bad news. He's afraid that while he and Viktor were fucking, something terrible has happened to Yuuri, and he can't face it yet. So he pulls Viktor into his arms again, reaches down, finds his dick. It takes some coaxing, but pretty soon Viktor's hard again.

As he pushes into Chris once more, he lets out another wheezy gasp.

"It was only a year. We were only married a year."

Those are the last words he speaks for hours. He fucks Chris raw, then turns himself over and demands it rough. Over and over, all night, while Chris questions just what went wrong in their relationship.

But he may never know.


	14. "Shouldn't you be with him?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for anon [here](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166649809972/15-victurio)! Vikturio angst.

Yuri wakes up to hands slowly sifting through his hair. He just lies there for a minute, soaking in the attention, the way those hands make him want to relax back into sleep. But instead he blinks his eyes open and shifts, pushing back against the prominent erection against the base of his spine.

**"Shouldn't you be with him?"** Yuri asks sleepily, still half-conscious but aware that it's morning from the grey light filtering in. It's dawn. He stills his hips and turns his head to look over his shoulder at Viktor. Viktor's hands keep running through the long, tousled strands of his hair, and for a long moment, he doesn't speak. "Vitya?" Yuri ventures, feeling very small and young all of a sudden. Unsure of himself. Only Viktor makes him feel this way, and waking up in bed with him is a luxury they can't afford.

"It's all right," Viktor finally says, burying his face in Yuri's hair. "You don't have anything to fear from him." Viktor rolls his hips against Yuri's backside, and Yuri's own morning wood twitches happily. He's up for round two, but it's getting late—at least, because Viktor has to hurry back to the fat katsudon—and Yuri himself has training and exercising to do to get ready for the competition. Rostelecom is a chance to prove himself on a giant stage, and not only that, but one in his home country. He has to place better than that fat fucking pig.

"You know what," Yuri says, "just stay. Let him fucking wonder where you are." Yuri knows that what Viktor feels for Katsudon and what he feels for Yuri are completely different things. "Is he too pure to let you fuck him?" asks Yuri, somewhat viciously. He tries to tone it down, but some of his vitriol seeps through.

"I don't think Yuuri is really on the same page yet." Viktor nuzzles the nape of Yuri's neck, using his nose to shift tangles of hair aside until his tongue is suddenly hot and wet against Yuri's skin.

"I want you to fuck me again. Inside this time." Yuri deliberately grinds against Viktor's thick, hard cock.

"Not before you skate. You know that." But Viktor willingly thrusts up against him; his hand adjusts his cock for a moment until it's snugged inside Yuri's ass cheeks and then he says, "Squeeze."

Yuri squeezes his buttocks together to make it tighter for Viktor, who ruts against him. The dried come from the night before flakes off under this new pressure. Yuri shoves his hand beneath the blanket, only to be thwarted by Viktor's hand.

"That's mine." Viktor nudges Yuri's hand out of the way and forms a tight fist around Yuri's cock, priming him with quick, hurried pumps of his hand. When Yuri's cock is fully hard, and swelling more and more against Viktor's palm, Viktor begins to work him in earnest. As he thrusts into the warmth between Yuri's ass cheeks he moves his hand up and down quickly.

"Vitya—" Yuri gasps, and arches. His body metaphorically flings itself upwards and over and Viktor's free hand is suddenly smothering his mouth to keep the scream from echoing. It wouldn't do for Yuri, a fifteen-year-old, to be caught having sex with Viktor. Well, with anyone, but especially Viktor—who is so much older. Yuri sometimes questions Viktor's motives, but he doesn't want to ask. He just wants to enjoy the lascivious attentions Viktor lavishes on him.

"You asked if I should be with him." Viktor grunts and Yuri's bare ass is quite wet and sticky all at once. "I'd rather be here with you."

That's a lie. Yuri knows it, and he's fairly certain Viktor is aware that Yuri knows. But it's a pretty lie, and Yuri likes it, so he twists his arm up, glancing over his shoulder again, and strokes the side of Viktor's face. Viktor needs a shave. Yuri has yet to grow more than peach fuzz, just one more checkmark in the column marked _too large of an age difference_.

"Tell me the truth. Why Yuuri?"

"Because I can't be seen with you," Viktor whispers, pulling Yuri onto his back and smothering his mouth again, this time with a kiss. Yuri winds his arms around Viktor's neck and sinks into the heat and warmth.

He wants to believe that that is the truth.


	15. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for anon [here](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166646642962/i-wasnt-lying-when-i-said-that-i-loved-you)! Otayuri angst.

"Please," says Otabek, soft. He projects this image of being dangerous, a sense of out-of-controlness between the bike and the shades and the leather jacket, but in private, this is what he is: soft. Even the hard, right angle of his jaw is less pronounced when it's just the two of them.

Yuri climbs out of the bed, not bothering to cover himself. He knows there's bruises on his ass cheeks from Beka biting him, none-too-gently. He knows he's wearing a circlet of marks around his neck—to go with the pearl necklace. Beka's soft, yes. But he's also hard, all edges that cut, and then his voice to soothe all the pain away. Yuri yawns and stretches, knowing his spine bows inward as he arches back, and knowing that Beka finds him beautiful.

"No." Yuri says the word in a short burst. He lowers his arms. He needs a shower—even though it will make the bite marks on his stomach and hips sting. Beka broke the skin with those, and Yuri can expect Beka to lovingly spread antibiotic ointment on them, to bandage them, to make sure they don't become infected. Yuri doesn't really care. There's part of him that wants those scars, the teeth marks, so that when he changes in the locker room JJ will see them and just… _know_.

"Yuri." Beka raises his voice a little. "Please come back to bed."

He does not turn around. If he meets Beka's warm, melted like chocolate eyes, his resolve will waver. He's strong—but not that strong. And Yuri doesn't want to lose any ground here.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he says, instead of looking at Beka. He can hear the sheets rustle, but there's no answering footsteps, so Beka's not getting out of bed. He clearly hopes Yuri will change his mind and come back, curl up in those safe, strong arms, and let Beka do what Beka most wants to do.

He struts into the bathroom, unable to turn off his desperate need to appear innately sexy, even with someone who doesn't even care about all that surface shit. No, Beka would want Yuri even if Yuri were crumpled on the floor, crying, eyes red and nose running. Hair streaming over his shoulders and face and snotty and damp from his tears.

Yeah, Yuri knows that too, because it's happened before. It happened that last time he and Beka had this conversation that Beka wants to have and Yuri is refusing to have. He'd run off that time, found something that was definitely _not_ solace in JJ's arms, and ended up back with Beka. Sobbing brokenly on the floor.

Yuri's cock feels heavy between his legs. It's strange, because he usually wouldn't notice. But it's like his head feels heavy too, everything growing heavier and harder to carry as he makes his way into the bathroom.

He's pissing absentmindedly when he realizes Beka's standing silently in the doorway. Yuri doesn't startle. Probably because part of him knew Beka wouldn't let him avoid this forever.

"Yuri." Beka says his name almost like an incantation, like Yuri will be summoned to do his bidding, to obey, if he just learns the secret to saying his name.

Yuri will never tell him that Beka learned the secret to saying his name the very first time he said it.

"Please don't," Yuri says helplessly. He finishes up at the toilet and flushes. His hands open and close, and he washes them quickly, trying not to think about how much he wants to reach for Beka.

**"I wasn't lying when I said that I loved you."** Beka always does what he pleases. He was never going to let Yuri off the hook that easily.

" _No_ ," Yuri whispers, and falls to his knees. Yuri ought to have known that it would end up here, with him supplicating on his knees. Beka drops to the floor too, only to reach out and cup Yuri's face, to thumb away the tears.

"Tell me," Beka murmurs. "What do you fear?"

"No—no. No one can." Yuri's gaze is pinned to the floor. "I'm not worth loving, Beka. Please don't. If-if you say that, I'll have to leave. I don't wanna leave. _Beka_."

Those strong, safe arms pull him into an embrace that breaks something inside Yuri.

"I love you."

Yuri pushes out of those arms, clambers to his feet unsteadily, banging his knee on the sink and his hip on the wall and he shoves past Beka, grabbing shorts and a t-shirt and throwing them on so fast the elastic on the shorts is twisted and the t-shirt's inside out; no underwear, and no shoes, Yuri runs.

He has to keep running. Those words don't mean to him what they mean to everyone else.


	16. "I love you. I'm completely and utterly in love with you. Please don't get married."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for anon [here](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com/post/166611212867/61-new-prompts-victurio-please)! Vikturio angst.

Yuri knows it's too late. He knows he waited too long. But he's Viktor's best man, and as soon as he straightens Viktor's cuff link one last time, he stops, catches his breath. Then he messes up the cuff link by grabbing at Viktor's wrist before he can step out of the room.

"Vitya." Yuri's voice is hoarse, and he knows what he sounds like. Not like himself at all.

"Thank you," Viktor says, and smooths a strand of hair on Yuri's head that's come free from the helmet of hairspray he's got. "I could never have gotten here without you."

"None of that sappy shit, Jesus," Yuri says. "It's not true anyway."

"Of course it is! Here we are, the wedding we've all been dreaming of, and you—"

"No, Vitya. We have not _all_ been fucking dreaming of this." The words are out of his mouth; he knows they're unwanted. They're practically steaming in the air like shit, and Yuri bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself to let go of Viktor's sleeve. "Go on. Go marry that fat bowl of pork cutlets."

"Wait," Viktor says. His voice is soft, unthreatening, but something about it keeps Yuri in place, keeps him from bolting from the room. "What did you mean, Yurio?"

God, that stupid nickname. He doesn't mean anything to Viktor! He has all of these _feelings_ , and fuck if he knows what to do with them. He tried to use them up on Otabek, like a bottle of lotion that was almost empty and all he had to do was squirt the rest out and rub it in somewhere, but it didn't work. Otabek could tell, somehow. He'd been so nice about it, but it was obvious Yuri had hurt his feelings by trying to transfer his feelings to another outlet.

Otabek is a great friend, and Yuri still feels the sting of that guilt, the way it made him feel shriveled and small because Beka probably _did_ have those feelings for Yuri, but he couldn't reciprocate them.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he says, wishing he could stomp on the words and make them disappear. He deserves the shit on his shoes.

"You don't have to hide behind a facade with me," Viktor quietly says. "I'm about to get married. I'm excited. But really—what's the matter, Yurio?"

"Don't call me that," Yuri says, "for starters. As for the rest… **I love you. I'm completely and utterly in love with you. Please don't get married."** He can't believe he said those words either, and from the look on Viktor's face, it's the last thing he was expecting.

"I'm sorry," Viktor mutters. "Yuri. Yuri, you know I _can't_. This isn't the time."

"I know." Yuri looks down at his shiny, polished dress shoes. He wants to scuff them against the wall. "I need to leave," he says.

"But—"

"No, Viktor. I can't watch you get married. If that's how this is going to end, I'm just—I'm out." He fixes Viktor's cuff link one last time. "Listen, I love you so much, I hope you're happy. I want you to be happy. But I won't watch all my dreams be flushed away by a few words and a couple of gold rings."

"Yuri."

"Goodbye, Viktor." Yuri shrugs out of the jacket of his tux, lays it down across a chair. He's not shy, and articles of formal clothing quickly grow in a pile as Yuri undresses. He doesn't look at Viktor as he yanks his jeans back on, then his leopard print shoes, his cat print hoodie.

It hurts more than it should that Viktor doesn't say anything else. It feels like someone has taken a cheese grater and scraped it against all of his insides as he turns and walks away.

As he walks away from the life he wanted so desperately, towards an empty, bleak future.


End file.
